Interlude
by handsareforshaking
Summary: series of short interludes that give insight to Star's life with the Lost Boys. premovie, up until a point. some slash in some interludes.


No apologies for this one, other than that it's not slash (for which I am so, so, sorry-some interludes will contain slash though, so). This is sort-of-but-not-really connected to my other fic, Epilogue. This is-will be...hopefully- a series of short bits and pieces of Star's life with the boys. This first one is her meeting them; however, after this I'm going to be jumping around quite a bit, but I'll try to make it as clear as possible. So, read and enjoy and review!

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Interlude

i.

"Hey girlie."

Wolf whistles and catcalls, but Star just keeps walking down the beach, bare heels flicking up sand in their wake, eyes locked on the boardwalk. It's getting late, and Star is smack in the middle of the kind of place her parents had warned her about. But then, that was why she left in the first place, wasn't it? For freedom. Recklessness.

"Hey-hey, gypsy!"

The voices grow louder; the sand cushioned footsteps grow closer and more immediate.

"Gypsy, come on now-give us a show!"

Rough hands grab her arms, spinning her around. There are five, six of them that she can make out, maybe more in the encroaching darkness. The only light now is from the flames of the bonfires, which flicker over their faces, distorting them and casting long shadows. Star shoves the guy that grabbed her-_hard_-in the chest, and starts to walk away, but now they've got her surrounded. A pack of wolves closing in.

The same guy-shaved head, tattooed neck, mean glint in his eye-takes hold of her again, grabbing the front of her blouse. She tries to wrench herself away.

"Oh-a spitfire!" His friends laugh, cruel and mocking. Just barely, she catches glimpses of Mohawks and surfing tank tops. She twists her head and spits in the guys face. He snarls, done playing now, and shoves her to a skinny-skinhead across from him. He reminds her of nothing so much as a rat, especially when he pulls her hair away from her neck, nuzzles a pointy nose in her skin and runs a tongue down her throat.

Petrified and trying not to let it show, Star opens her mouth to yell (she hasn't decided yet whether she's yelling at them or for help), only to find herself shoved once more, this time to a broad-chested, hairy one, whose bicep is roughly the same size as her head. He gropes her for a moment, before pushing her over to another one, and again, and again, until it becomes just a game. They jeer and laugh and touch her and Star wonders, even as her feet betray her and she goes sprawling, if soon they will tire of her and she will be in real trouble, the kind her parents warned her about.

Then, she hears them.

Motorcycles, four of them, all huge, come roaring down the beach, headlights momentarily blinding Star. Their riders are whooping and hollering black shapes that weave in and out of the surfers, coming perilously close Star. The guys that had been hustling her look more annoyed than frightened at the interruption, but even they are taken by surprise. The bikers coast to a stop on a sand dune just slightly above Star and the surfers. They form a line and rev their engines occasionally, like they're anxious, waiting for something.

A blond one, hair stark white against the black backdrop, pulls just a little further ahead than the others. Though he's shorter than the two on his right and has a lean frame, Star knows he's their leader. There's something about the way he carries himself, something that has a little bit to do with the long black leather jacket and a lot to do with the way the three others look at him with hungry eyes, waiting for permission to let go only if and when it's granted.

"Th'fuck do you want?" snarls the one that had originally grabbed Star. "We found her first." Slowly, on her hands and knees, Star starts to back out of the human circle.

The leader of the bikers just smiles. Star finds herself staring at that smile, that slow, chilling smile. It speaks of arrogance, a calm certainty achieved by those who know something you don't.

"The hell do you _want_?" the surfer says again, when it becomes clear that he wasn't going to get an answer right away.

The smile grows and the leader turns to glance at the other three. One, dark-haired with a serious expression and a square jaw; the other two, both blonde, though markedly different, one wild and untamed, the other close-cropped with a sweet face. They struck Star as related, though don't ask her why.

A gang, Star thinks, dizzily. They must be a gang and now I'm in even deeper than I was before.

He, the leader, steps off his bike now, but leaves it running. He revs the engine; somehow his even voice carries over the noise.

"I want you to bleed." The boys behind him howl with laughter.

With a growl, the motorcycle flies across the sand, rider less, straight at the surfers. It hits the first one, the one who'd started all this, dead on, and he goes flipping through the air like a rag doll, landing boneless some feet away. He doesn't move. The bikes wheels slide out from under it and it stops on its side a little ways away.

The leader laughs in a low rumble that grows and grows, and the other surfers flee, far and fast, until they're swallowed up by the night.

Star is quiet for a long moment, breath coming shakily, not able to lift her gaze from the fallen body. It-he-looks like he might still be breathing, but that might be a trick of the far-off light. Suddenly she realizes the bikers are all next to her. She hadn't heard them move. They don't quite circle her: there is enough room for her run, if she wanted. One look up at _his_ face and they might as well have her arms and legs bound in chains for all she was trapped anyway.

"You did good," the leader says. "You were outnumbered and you fought anyway." There was an undercurrent of pride in his voice that makes Star swell with unexplained pleasure.

She pushes herself up. The two tallest guys-the dark-haired one and the wild blonde-break from the group and walk to the body. The surfer is still alive, Star sees him shifting, hears a soft moan carry over on the light wind. The two boys kneel down close by and lean in, bending over the dark shape like angels of death in a picture book her mother once gave her. She opens her mouth, and maybe she's going to protest this, speak up for someone who would have left her for dead without a thought.

A gloved hand catches her chin and gently turns her face away from the scene. The leather is smooth and cool against her skin.

"Do you really care what happens to him?"

Without a thought, and certainly without any guilt.

She shakes her head no. The other two are back. Star thinks that they look a little out of breath, and that their eyes are brighter than they were a moment ago. Trick of the light, she reminds herself.

"You look like you need a place to sleep," the leader says. Star suddenly feels painfully, bone-weary tired. "We know a place you'll be safe. Come with us." _If you're brave enough_, his eyes seem to add.

His tone says, trust me, trust me, but not too far. Star isn't sure if she trusts him yet or not. She looks at all of them, one by one. Amusement lingers at the edge of each of their expressions. There's something not quite right here, something that tells her now is the time alarm bells should be sounding in her head. But she is so, so tired and the lights and sounds are starting to blur together in a jumble and the thought of not having to worry about which stoop she'd call home for the night is sounding more and more appealing.

Star makes her decision. The leader seems to know what it is even before she nods, because he smiles again, places a hand at the small of her back and makes a sweeping gesture at his bike, which is now propped up and waiting. He leads her smoothly over to it, lets her slide in behind him and then all five of them take off into the night.

It wasn't like she didn't know better. One of the first rules she learned was not to agree to go god-knows-where on the back of a total stranger's motorcycle, and she isn't stupid. It was just that it was one more thing that could put a bigger distance between her and the life she used to be a part of. In for a penny, in for a pound, as her mother had always said. Star is going to make sure she does this runaway thing right, and if that involves midnight rides pressed close to his-David, she will later learn, David's-jacket, she thinks she might just have half a chance at being…you know. Okay.

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Drop a review if you have time. Oh, and I DID steal the motorcycle hitting the surfer from the movie Rumble Fish (great movie, definately worth seeing), the part where the Motorcycle Boy saves Rusty James from...I forget his name in the movie-Tom Waits. Anyway, thought I'd clear that up before I get sued. Hope you enjoyed and look for more soon!


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